


Apparition

by thisworldisawhore



Series: Teratoma [3]
Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Human!Edgar, Just a drabble, M/M, Mentions Sam, Mind Games, Sibling Incest, The Camper, vampire!Alan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 01:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13283589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisworldisawhore/pseuds/thisworldisawhore
Summary: At some point, the salt circle must have broken.-Alan pays a visit.





	Apparition

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe that I’ve been writing. Anyway, here’s another long-ish drabble. Haven’t quite decided how I’m going to do updates? Probably going to post the longer bits in separate works if I keep working on this, BUT it could change.
> 
> Also, just want to reiterate that my timeline for this entire endeavor is purposefully splintered and rearranged, so this takes place before Absolution.
> 
> Didn’t beta this either, fuck it.

At some point, the salt circle must have broken, the wards down or maybe ineffectual to start with. 

Edgar knew that Alan would come back. Maybe not when Alan ran in the beginning, those few months before he turned, before there were rumors in the wind about a new player, back when David was still so far underground that no one knew he wasn’t really dead... but those days didn’t last for long, and well, that Alan wasn’t _there_ didn’t mean that Alan wasn’t there.

He’s seen the same ink-spot shadow in the spare bunk dozens of times, always only in the delirious moments between sleep and wake, when reality grows thin and Edgar couldn’t come fully to if he tried.

Some nights the apparition sits against the wall and watches. Some nights he’s stretched out in a kitchen chair. And some nights, he’s oh so small... curled up asleep in the spare bunk and Edgar’s heart aches too keenly for the simplicity and the stillness that were taken away from him, from his brother. The turmoil and the darkness and the deep-rooted ache that took their place.

This time it’s the kitchen counter, and Edgar, when he wakes up and finally even notices because it’s up and directly over from his head, immediately thinks _this again?_ and closes his eyes. It’s the flick of a lighter, the smell of smoke, and the sound of Alan’s inhale that has him sitting up, scrubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, and uttering a simple “Fuck.” Then:

“Why are you here?” Edgar is weary (he’s always so fucking weary now), but this isn’t the first time the real Alan has shown up. The real _undead_ Alan, not just the phantoms and the voices and the years belated “gifts” to show up in the floorboards of his truck from time to time. Maybe a half dozen times he’s appeared in the flesh, but anymore it’s hard to keep track. 

“You act like you made it difficult,” Alan says.

“What?” Maybe it’s the missed sleep dragging him down, but it’s such a broad accusation that Edgar’s not even sure what he’s dealing with.

“Finding you,” Alan’s hand twitches on the counter. “Getting in here. Any of it.”

_What else did he expect?_ Edgar has been running for five years. This isn’t the first or even the second godforsaken coast town he’s ran to, and this isn’t even the fifth piece of shit land he’s moved his camper onto.

And Sam, _god, what has he done?_ When he made that phone call, those few gruff words not even five of them, he had to have known Sam didn’t have it in him to run anymore. He wonders sometimes if Sam fought at all, and thinks with a sinking feeling that the answer is probably no. Sam wasn’t a threat to anyone but himself after Widow Johnson’s. And in the end, he was worn so thin he might have just disappeared entirely on his own. 

He had tracked Edgar down countless times trying to warn him there’d be a day this very night would happen, and Edgar hadn’t wanted to hear so much that he sealed Sam’s fate. What he doesn’t know is that Alan had already came in the night and painted a black X over Sam’s head before Edgar even knew Sam had turned.

Could he have made that same phone call on his brother? His brother that would have fought every step of the way, and won, because (Edgar doesn’t think he’s disrespecting Sam’s memory when he says this but) Alan Frog was strong in ways that Sam Emerson never would have been and the muscle that fills out that leather jacket is only part of it.

Didn’t even last his first year of high school before he dropped out to take over the store, and yet, even in the winter months, when the store didn’t pull in enough money to keep a mouse alive much less the two of them, Alan somehow made sure that they ate and the bills were paid. 

Alan could have fought his way out of monsterdom armed with nothing but a wet paper bag because he was strong and he was calculating. ( _Why didn’t he?_ part of Edgar wonders, but he tamps it down because that wonder sometimes hurts more than the rest of it.)

But what he does know is that he gave up his home, the shop, his brother. He completely closed down his old life, he ran for years, and _god, he killed the last person he had left_ , and Alan has the nerve to come in here, to even show up at all, and say Edgar didn’t _try hard enough?_ Like he should have done more?

“And just what about it was so fucking easy?” Edgar snaps, and, oh, it’s the wrong move, it’s always the wrong fucking move, because of course he’s the one at the disadvantage here, trapped on the bed and the front door might as well be miles away. 

“You tell me,” Alan’s voice is nearly a purr and he shimmies down the last few inches from the counter. “You’re the hunter.”

But it isn’t in him, because something uncurls in his mind and things get fuzzy. He dimly registers the weight of someone’s knee on the mattress, and he wakes up the next morning to no sign of Alan and no damage done, but the sheets smell like him and there’s a couple cigarette butts in a tray on the counter.

**Author's Note:**

> Please someone talk to me.


End file.
